Same as me
OlderCaptain!Malereader X Shane Hollander
Warning ⚠️: It’s hockey, of course, a fight is going to happen.
Note: This is a two part story! Got this idea watching a clip of Gibson slapping the ice to summon a fight with Copley. WE WERE ROBBED OF GOALIE VS GOALIE!!! So I’m bringing you a captain vs captain lol.
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The arena was packed, with no seat left unoccupied, even though the match wasn't starting for at least half an hour. You looked around and observed the disparity between the fans. The Montreal Metros outnumbered yours, but it came as no surprise when you were visiting Montréal itself.
“Hey boss, you know what would be sweet? If you could give me my stick!” Mickey asked.
You turned your attention to your goalie, snorting as you saw him standing in equilibrium on the goal, kicking his feet like a teenager. Goalies were the weirdest players on the ice, fans said, and they were right. But Mickey always stole the show.
“Get down, Mike, you are going to break your neck, and then I’ll have no one to troll those pigeons,” You said, skating to his side.
Mickey only pointed at his fallen stick, pouting. You pointed at the ice, resting a hand on your hip like a tired parent.
At this point, you were.
“Get on stretching instead of doing whatever this is. Give our fangirls and the gays a good show like the others,” you added, grabbing your goalie by the collar and forcing him down slowly. Behind you, another player skated fast and replaced Mickey at the goal to fake swimming. Mickey pointed at him, looking at you as if you had just stabbed him in the back. “Paul, tabarnak, get down too.”
The French Canadian pulled out his tongue in answer before Mickey went to grab him, wanting his place back.
“I’m surrounded by children,” you thought, shaking your head.
From the corner of your eye, you spotted Hollander, the opposite captain, looking at you. Others would have felt ashamed of their players acting like teenagers, but not you. It showed they were comfortable being themselves, teasing each other and having fun. It was bonding time before the match.
Unlike your team, Hollander’s guys seemed more serious, tense even. It made you smirk.
The Montreal Metros were harder to beat at home, as if their arena gave them strength, but it didn't change your reputation. You were considered one of the most feared captains, being able to give orders without saying a word; your guys always had your back and you theirs. A team that hadn't traded a player in five years, having a bond like no other.
Without a word, you went to meet Hollander in the center of the arena, ignoring the cheering and screams from the fans.
“Admiring my team, Hollander? Yours look spooked. Maybe you should give them some encouragement,” You teased the younger captain, getting a chuckle out of him.
“You wish they were,” Hollander replied, looking over your shoulder. “At least my guys are taking the match seriously.”
This time you were the one snorting.
“Get down your high horse, Hollander. My guys are having fun because we are confident. You should learn to have fun,” you replied, shaking your head.
It wasn't your first match against the Metros, but the first one since Hollander had become the captain. Poor thing was playing the meanie rooster, trying to show off and all. It would have been amusing if Hollander wasn't so serious about it.
Was it an important match? Of course. Every match was important, but here Hollander was trying to be all mighty. Trying to prove himself, but only looked ridiculous.
“Listen, kiddo. Congrats on the captain title, but relax. You look like someone bent you over and fucked you with a broom,” you said, resulting in the younger man choking on his own saliva and turning as red as a tomato. “Don’t go on trying to bite bigger than you can chew on. You won't even throw the glove off with me if I come to you.”
Are you calling him a chicken? Definitely. Hollander had a few good fights under his name, but compared to veterans like you and most of your team? The kid was still, well, a kid, a rookie.
Hollander opened his mouth, pointing a finger at you before a whistle blew. All around you, fans began screaming, and you knew the match was about to start.
“C'mon Hollander, get your team together and give me your worst,” you told him before skating away.
You smiled, seeing your team playing canoe in front of the goal. You took note in the back of your mind to get the whole team to go canoe-camping in the summer. They would love it so much.
_________
The match was ending soon, and it looked to be heading to a stalemate. One for one. Your team had scored the first goal during the first period and Hollander’s during the second. After that, the goalies hadn't let anything pass. They were both walls, immovable, and you felt respect for the Metros’ goalie this time. But your Mickey was going beyond as well.
Your attention was turned on Boiziau, his on you as well, when you heard a crashing sound followed by a whistle. Your ankles almost snapped as you shifted to face your goal. Mickey lay unresponsive, Paul shielding his head and back with his own body while the rest of the team piled against the Metro. You felt your blood turn to ice, then boil.
Without thinking, you began hitting the ice with your stick, the sound reverberating through the arena. After the third hit, you saw Hollander’s head poke out of the pile, staring at you. Without a second thought, you pointed your stick at him, a clear call, before dropping it and taking off your gloves.
At first, Hollander didn't move, seemingly frozen on the spot, but after a few seconds, he raced to meet you. Gloves and stick were thrown on the ice, and you braced and waited for him.
Hollander opened his mouth, but you gave him no time to talk and grabbed the young captain by the shirt before hitting him straight in the face. Your fist collided hard on his jaw, and Hollander grabbed your arm, trying to stop you. You let go of his shirt, hitting him again.
“The fuck, Hollander? The fuck did you do to Mickey?” You asked, grabbing a handful of hair as the opposite captain lost his helmet. Hollander hit you as well, but you moved your head and allowed his fist to hit your forehead.
“Was a fucking accident, I swear! Couillard fell and tripped your goalie by accident!” Hollander said fast, as if you would show mercy now.
Was it thought? You knew damn well how Hollander was. The kid did have a few fights under his belt, and if he never targeted a goalie before, there was a start to everything. And right now, fear and anger blinded you. He might be telling the truth, but who cared when your friend was down, hurt?
You let go of Hollander, and the captain skated back as you two danced around each other. The crowd was on fire, screaming in ecstasy.
But you didn't care.
Hollander tried to punch you, but you grabbed his wrist and hit him in the face, pulling hard, trying to make him fall.
“You are their captain, haven't you told them to stay away from the goalie?” you asked as Hollander grabbed your shirt, not wanting to fall.
“Fuck you! I haven't called it!” The younger man defended himself as you shook him.
“Fucking bullshit! I call bullshit!” You shouted, falling on the ice with Hollander as the stripes reached both of you. You managed another hit, and Hollander landed one as well before you were separated.
Your heart raced in your chest as you turned your attention back to Mickey. A hiccup left you, and you felt your body shaking as you watched your goalie sitting and just cheering you up. Helmet off, you could see blood rolling down Mickey’s face, but the goalie didn't seem to care. He was awake, happy, and it was all that mattered to you.
You were led to your box, getting a penalty and yet didn't care. You stood until Mickey arrived, refusing to leave the match, but he came to sit with you, even if it wasn't authorized, to rest. You wrapped an arm around him, foreheads pressed together, trying to calm yourself.
“You good, Mickey?” You asked as the goalie rested his head against your shoulder.
“This is just a scratch, boss. Don’t worry about me. What about you?” Mickey asked, but you could hear how tired he was.
“Fine. Kid’s hitting like a kitten,” You replied, your gaze searching for Hollander.
You found him looking at you from his box, and you couldn't read his expression. Guilt, curiosity, maybe a mix of both or even something else.
“You scared the shit out of me, Mickey. Never do that again.” You kissed Mickey’s forehead, keeping your goalie against you while he chuckled.
“Fucker dived in my legs, and I hit my head. Nothing too bad, honestly,” he replied. “Wasn't expecting seeing my captain throwing hands with the other captain tho. Nice sight, I want more of it.”
You snorted and rested your cheek on top of his head. You were still shaking, trying to calm yourself, but couldn't seem to. You had seen accidents before, concussions weren't rare, and broken bones either, but you had seen bad one too. Blood pooling on the ice, unresponsive players that were rushed to the emergency. You had stopped counting the players who suffered career-ending injuries after two years on the ice. But here, it was one of your teammates, and it was terrifying.
Feeling eyes on you, you looked up.
Hollander was still looking, but his gaze had softened.
“C'mon. You need to go get checked out, Mickey, not sit with me in the box,” you said, rubbing your friend’s arm. “Don’t wanna lose you because you're afraid of the medic.”
“Not afraid. Just wanna stay with my captain,” Mickey snorted, and you felt him shift in your arms. “Kid staring. Imagine he getting his first rival crush?”
That got you laughing your ass off as your coach approached the box to talk with Mickey. He threw a water bottle to you and a small towel, allowing you to wash the goalie’s face. It took a minute or two, but you managed to get Mickey out of the box and follow the coach to get checked out. As for you, you were left alone, hands shaking.
And even when Paul scored the last goal of the match, you didn't feel like partying.
__________
After the match was over, you lingered on the ice, the fan and the rest of the team long gone. You replayed the scene, the sight of Mickey unconscious haunting you. You regretted jumping Hollander, but he had been the first to answer your call, and he was the captain. He knew no one should touch the goalie, and yet allowed his guys to do so.
He needed the reminder that he now represented the team, that he was responsible for their actions.
Still, the guilt ate at your guts.
Maybe you went too far.
Punching him like that wasn't okay.
It never was okay to take it out on another player. Especially a kid like Hollander, who didn't ask for it. You remembered how he looked at you from his box, with guilt and worry. He had been worried for Mickey.
Cursing, you closed your eyes and threw your head back, resting it against a seat. Your body was still shaking, adrenaline refusing to leave your system. Mickey had a serious concussion, but nothing besides it: he was lucky. It could have been way worse. You knew you were going to have nightmares about it.
“Hey, you okay?” Hollander asked, making you flinch.
Opening your eyes, you looked up at his bruised face. Lips split because of you; his dark eyes were looking at you with so much worry. That kid was being way too sweet right now.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine soon,” you replied, voice low, before petting the seat next to you. “What are you doing here, kid? You should be out with your team or girlfriend.”
The young captain sat next to you, hands clapping his knees. He looked down, seemingly thinking about what to say.
“There is nothing to celebrate today. Maybe we’ll win the next match, but today? A player got sent to the hospital; we fought…. I don’t feel like going to the bar,” he said, shoulders dropping.
A knot formed in your throat, bile tickling your lips.
“I’m sorry. I… I shouldn't have jumped you like that,” you admitted with a sigh. “For Christ’s sake, you weren't the one that tripped Mickey, and yet I bet your ass. You got guts, kid; that's a good thing.”
Hollander looked at you, slowly blinking before a small smile appeared on his lips and he shook his head.
“You were right; I’m the captain, so it does make me responsible. While accidents happen, no one should have ended up in your goalie’s space.” Hollander said, gaze turning to the ice.
You looked as well, closing your hands into thight fists to stop the shaking. It was late now, too late to visit Mickey in the hospital, and there was no way they would let you sleep in his room.
“You are… close to him, aren't you?” Hollander asked, an edge now in his voice, and it made you snort.
“Hollander, I might be gay, but there is nothing between me and any of my guys,” you replied and shook your head. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”
And honestly, it was probably for the better, you thought as you stared at your shoes. Tonight had proved you weren't able to control your anger or deal with your fear. You’ll probably snap at your boyfriend and hurt them, which no one deserved.
You looked up, finally realizing what you just said, a knot in your throat. But Hollander wasn't looking at you with disgust or laughing; he was blushing and biting his lower lip.
“You are gay too?” He asked, so low you thought you were dreaming. “How… do you manage it? I’m afraid every day someone is going to find out,” Hollander admitted, clamping his hands together, trying to stop the shaking.
“To be honest? At this point, I stopped caring or hiding. My team know; they don't care, besides I’ve given my all for years. If it came out, no one can say I slept my way up.” You chuckled and leaned back in your seat, taking in what Hollander had said.
The young captain was just like you, with the same fear eating at his guts as you did at your age. The NHL wasn't all rainbows, especially for queers people. You knew what Hollander thought and feared: being found out, having his team turn against him and the press starting rumours, fans giving him threats and God knew what else. He wouldn't be safe anywhere.
You raised a hand, resting it on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.
“It’s going to be okay, kid,” you said. “Whatever happens, just know there is nothing wrong with you. The problem is them, not you. You are a good damn player, and your sexuality isn't changing anything.”
You didn't want Hollander shoving himself in the closet, behind ashamed of who he was.
That was who you had jumped, beaten without giving him a real chance to speak to you. Now, guilt ate ar your guts as you saw the way Hollander looked at you with so much hope and innocence. He had been on the ice for a few years now; he hadn't experienced everything and, as you realized, he was alone.
“I’m sorry I beat the shit out of you, Hollander. Fuck it, I was in the wrong,” you sighed and dropped your hand.
“You got pulled back to 2008, weren't you?” He asked, catching your hand. “I’m sorry. It was an accident, but it was a terrifying one. I… spoke to the guys. Next time we won't be this close, I promise.”
Your blood had turned to ice for a second, being reminded of 2008. You had witnessed another player getting hit on the neck with a skate. The sight of the blood pooling on the ice kept haunting you to this day.
“Thanks. I’ll make sure my guys do the same,” You replied as Hollander let go of your hand, gaze returning to the ice.
The silence fell between you, comfortable this time.
The young captain wasn't the first queer player you met, but each time it made you happy. Sort of. Sad because everyone was somewhat in the closet, forced because the NHL wasn't ready to be supportive of its queer players. But happy because there was a community inside the NHL. Hollander had just been alone all that time.
“Give me your phone,” You told him, opening your hand and expecting the younger man to hand you his phone. He looked at you, almost scared, before doing it. You went into his contacts and added yourself, using a fake female name. “If you need to talk or anyone starts giving you shit because they found out, hit me up. I’ll be there for you, and I’ll deal with the fucker.”
It was obvious you would deal with it in your own way and pass the word around if a player showed to be homophobic. It had happened before, would happen again.
“Thanks,” Hollander whispered, eyes staring at his phone as if it would disappear. “Did… did you ever…”
“Yeah, I hooked up with other players. More or less dated a few times, but honestly? It’s hard and messy,” you admitted, shaking your head. “Always a secret, never able to just be together. The anxiety always there; what if we are discovered? And when the other gets hurt or ends up in a fight. What if we break up and he uses it against me?”
Hollander nodded, and you chuckled, realizing he was seeing someone. You tilted your head, looking at the young captain, Mickey’s words echoing in your head. It seemed you weren't his first crush after all.
“How’s Mickey?” he finally asked, and you smiled.
“Fine. Got a bad concussion, but honestly? He got lucky. Could have been way worse,” you replied, and he nodded again.
This was nice. Having a small talk, making someone realize they weren't alone and just… being there, floating in the aftermath.
“Wanna hit the ice before they close the arena?” Hollander asked, making you grin.
“Want me to teach you a trick?” you asked, and this time it was Hollander who grinned.
And right there, you knew this was going to be a great friendship, no matter how it started.